


Dissolving Like Sugar Into Water

by SquirrellyThief



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Corporate Psychological Warfare, Desert Bluffs brand Horror, Kevin Origin Story, Kevin's Teeth Fetish, M/M, My DB!Carlos is named Hidalgo in this, Violence against Interns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 18:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17167511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SquirrellyThief/pseuds/SquirrellyThief
Summary: “You only feel that way because you are a potential victim of death. Or, much, much worse, a potential victim of loss.”Kevin was human once.Once.A long time ago.He's not sure what he is now. Isn't sure if he cares. But he's much happier. And that's all that matters in the end, really. Isn't it?[It's a Kevin Origin story folks, buckle up]





	Dissolving Like Sugar Into Water

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this thing over a year ago and since I'm starting to import my better works over from Tumblr, this was the first on my list.
> 
> I used notes from the canon through Triptych and The Investigators, but nothing after when writing this. (I'm still catching up.)

They cut him down at the door without batting an eye, bruising his ribs and cutting a gash so deep he could barely breathe.

In hindsight, he wasn’t sure what he had been thinking, running into the studio after them. Or into the booth. They’d already killed Intern Jenna, her blood pulp still oozing into the old carpet. Her skull shiny in the glare of the broken lights. They’d torn down the barricade, both the first and second attempts at one, and shattered his booth window when the third held. Really, he was just prolonging the inevitable.

Despite all that, he still put himself between the bloody, soulless office workers and his microphone. When they tried to drag him away, he clawed and bit at them with hysterical fury. When the blood loss made him delirious, he caught someone by the throat and dragged them down with him.

But they were many and he was one. They took the building. They hauled him back to his feet, back to consciousness, by his hair; body restrained, head aching, soul numb. They pinned him to his desk and made their demands; threatening to level the whole desert community to a sun-baked parking lot if it didn’t surrender. That so many people were dead already and he  _knew_  it was true. He could see the stacks of the bloated and the bloody drying out in the vicious desert sun whenever he closed his eyes. So many.  _Too many_. And dozens more still in danger. It was hopeless.

He felt cheated.  _Lied to_. It wasn’t supposed to play out this way. But, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have lied too. No one wants to admit to a truth like this. Not even the ones living it.

The only thing he could do now was try to save the few that remained.

“Wait- no- please.” He spluttered and struggled fruitlessly, “No- don’t- don’t hurt them anymore. We’ll cooperate. I can get them to stop. Just let us go. Just… stop killing people.  _Please_.”

_Calm them_ , they said, a chorus of circular saws and screams of anguish.  _They listen to you._

The grip on his hair tightened as he breathed into his microphone.

“What am I supposed to say?” He had a few ideas; run, hide, come together and wall yourselves off. Make them work for it.

Hands ripped out locks of his hair when he struggled. The edge of his desk ripped the gash in his side larger, splattering the polished surface with dark, glistening blood.

_Listeners_  (they said through him),  _the rebellion is over. We have failed. But this need not be the end of our lives. Of your lives. Our conquerors are benevolent_  (They lied) _they are merciful. They only wish to see us happy and productive! Surely we all want that_. (More lies.)  _Lay down your arms, or other people’s arms as the case may be. And, beloved Listeners, let the Smiling God embrace you in its light._

“I am so proud of all of you.”

All the while they kept reminding him to smile and stop crying.

* * *

 

Kevin used to be human.

Well,  _human_  insofar as a glowing third-eye, clairvoyance, and radio wave-based emotional mind control made a person human anyway. (Which was to say, pretty darned human indeed!) It wasn’t like he was a  _dragon_  or a  _scorpion_  or anything. Not that there was anything wrong with being those things. Kevin just wasn’t one of them.

That fact seemed to surprise the StrexCorp CEO when Kevin was thrown into his office, beaten and bruised, twenty-two stitches and three hours in and out of shock after Desert Bluffs surrendered to its new corporate overlords. He tore a stitch or two trying to keep his footing when the armed guards threw him. He landed hard on his scraped and swollen knees anyway.

It was a normal office; large, nondescript, no windows or furniture save for a desk and two chairs, one of which was occupied. On the wall behind the desk was the StrexCorp sun logo and a few words in Modified Sumerian. Kevin pushed himself to his feet, hands leaving red-black smears on the pale yellow and gold marbled tiles. He stumbled to the desk and held himself upright with the back of the empty chair (understuffed, made of cheap particle board, with upholstery that was an affront to textiles themselves.) The name plate on the desk said ‘Chief Executive Officer’ and nothing else. No name, no photographs, just office supplies that looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades.

The man- no. Not man, creature—no that wasn’t right either. The  _thing_  opposite him tested even Kevin’s well-honed skills of verbal description. Looking too long made him felt like the room was spinning; that his eyes would grow legs and crawl right out of his head. It was… a customer service smile given human shape: a self-serving, placating,  _lie._  A look that makes one stop recognizing themselves in the mirror. A look that makes one wonder if they were ever that original person at all.

“Sit.” It said; bulging white teeth clicking on the ‘T’.

Pain and exhaustion were the only reasons Kevin took up the offer, easing himself into the chair slowly.

“The Voice of Desert Bluffs has a  _face_ ,” it continued, “not the face I would have pictured. But it certainly is a face.”

Kevin just stared at a spot somewhere between the day planner and the coffee mug on the desk.

“Mr. F- ahem-  _Kevin_ , if I may.” It wasn’t a request. When Kevin didn’t respond the CEO took that as permission to continue. “Kevin, I have a proposition for you. You seem to  _really_  love this town-“ (What was left of Kevin’s torn fingernails dug into the cheap wood of his chair) “And they enjoy listening to you… How would you like to stay on the air?”

Kevin glanced up and regretted it when it made every muscle in his body throb in protest. “What?”

“You keep your little radio show,  _but_  we sponsor and produce it. Write your scripts-“

“I’m a journalist-“

“ _Do not interrupt me._ ”

Kevin pulled his mouth into a tight line and said no more.

“We write your scripts, and you tell all your listeners about the  _wonders_  of working hard, and working well, and working for StrexCorp.” A stack of papers held together with an alligator clip plopped on the desk. Kevin hadn’t heard any drawers open. “There’s your first one if you’d like to read through it.”

His hands smudged the paper and tore edges. The backs of his eyes prickled as he read line after line of ringing endorsements for twenty hour work days and he wanted to tear the thing to shreds. Instead he just sat there, biting his knuckles and breathing through his nose.

“You’re concerned.”

“No,” Kevin corrected, putting the script back on the desk, “not concerned. Crushed.”

“Crushed?”

“Beneath the weight of my failure.” It was glib and self-deprecating and Kevin just  _did not care._

The beat of silence that followed almost felt like victory beneath thing sweet song of his bruises.

“You are being  _awfully negative_  about this, Kevin.” It said, leaning closer. Closer. Almost too close. “I’m not this generous to just anyone, after all. You’re special to this place. They want to keep you. I’m willing to let them! So long as you play by the rules. You should be happy!”

Kevin smiled weakly.

“I’m sure you can do better than that.”

Kevin closed his eyes; pictured League Night, his brother, Grandma Josephine, his little town before all this disaster and bloodshed, the station _._  He let the memories tug at his heart and widen his smile enough to show teeth.

There was a thoughtful hum. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to work on that.”

“What’s wrong with my smile?”

“Just a little dull is all. Flat. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”

* * *

 

 

The replacement of his teeth gave him a few days to memorize the StrexCorp script and die a little inside. Wires kept his jaw shut and his new, sharper and too-numerous fangs pristine and straight while his gums healed. His producer promised that the only thing that stood between his hometown becoming a parking lot and living another day was his ability to stick to the script. They let him work at the studio when he’d claimed it helped him focus and gather the news. Both statements at least mostly true.

They replaced the equipment at the station; all new Strex models, shiny and complicated-looking. They didn’t clean the blood or replace the shattered window. If anything there was  _more_ blood now. Kevin couldn’t find it in him to care. The interns kept him company on the days he sat in the booth with a mug full of warm saltwater he’d drink with a straw and then slowly let seep from between his new teeth. Some recounted stories, told jokes (only to stop suddenly when Kevin flashed a smile), tried to tell him the secrets of the new Strex filing system.  

They made him, at gunpoint, move apartments to a building closer to the central office. He wasn’t allowed to take more than a single regulation box of personal effects. The rest of his things deemed ‘superfluous’ and recycled to fund municipal programs. The apartment was cramped, utilitarian; white smooth walls and floors; grey furniture and thick blackout curtains set on a timer he couldn’t change. He was issued a new cellphone, digital planner, and a pet. His old ones confiscated and recycled as well (though how one recycled a cat Kevin wasn’t sure.)

They cut his hair. They provided him with a new wardrobe of cotton-poly blend in crisp  white, black, and beige. They emblazoned his clothes with the company logo. Then, they emblazoned  _him_  with the company logo; a bright triangle hiding the tracking chip in his left wrist synchronized with his digital planner.

The wires came out from between his teeth the day before the first new broadcast and Kevin spent his entire night sitting on the foot of his bed practicing. He didn’t want his teeth to click or slur his words. His voice had to be the  _same_. Something Strex couldn’t change or take. Every time he slipped up and bit his lip, tongue, or the inside of his cheek he bled for several minutes. Eventually he was forced to move into the kitchen to stand over the sink to read his lines, so he wouldn’t have to pause to stop the bleeding.

His jaw ached when he showed up to work; his throat raw and burning through cups of coffee and water.

“Good Morning, Desert Bluffs! It’s good to be back! I’m sorry to have left you so long.”

 

* * *

 

He tried not to drink the tap water if he could avoid it. Or eat the food left in the breakroom. Or  _touch_  anything provided by Strex. The fits of laughter triggered after drinking a cup of office coffee too fast or the weird, giddy energy that came to him during a trip to the diner after a long day at work were the stuff of nightmares. Some days he skipped eating altogether and suffered through the dehydration headache just to keep his wits about him. But things slipped through. Half asleep with a mug of cooling coffee next to him, Kevin didn’t think twice before drinking it. Hunger and thirst couldn’t be ignored indefinitely.

Regardless, he kept his consumption limited.

Every week he was called to the CEO’s office for a new script of things to read. Some were so thick as to be nearly impossible to carry without a box, but he was expected to anyway. The secretary outside was always thoughtful enough to remind him to smile before going in (earning him a greeting of “Oh you charmer,” and a good mood when he went inside). He vowed to get her some sort of gift, or would have if he thought for a second she would appreciate it as much as he appreciated the reminders.

Routine came quick, but now that nights were no longer A Thing, Kevin struggled to fill his sleepless off-hours. He’d used to just play with his cat and watch the town through his third eye, laughing when someone included him as if he was physically there. Usually Grandma Josephine.

But there was nothing in town worth watching anymore.

The StrexPet was really more of a glorified Roomba with a chip that made it make pet noises while it ate some weird regulation kibble Kevin wasn’t entirely sure was even food. It was an ornery thing, not suited for companionship, and bit Kevin’s feet more than once if he got out of bed before his alarm for any reason at all.

He stopped cleaning up the blood after the second attempt. It just seemed  _nicer_  to have that little splash of red-brown in the sea of sun-yellowed white and grey.

He wrote scripts when he couldn’t sleep. His own, with coded messages to the people who were still loyal to the town using his growing collection of the CEO’s work as templates. They’d have to be passible enough to get approval. He penned draft after draft to the sounds of traffic, distant helicopters, and the growls of his StrexPet. He felt so  _productive_  and filled with a creeping satisfaction that had been absent for weeks now.

He picked up a few dry sticks on his next walk home from the station and threw them at the little robotic monstrosity constantly scurrying about his floor whenever he got too frustrated with word choices. It didn’t do much for his frustration, but at least it was kind of funny to watch it freak out and attack the sticks as if they were hostile predators. Even if it did cover his floors with mulch he couldn’t be bothered to clean.

 

* * *

 

The CEO sent him a new intern as a reward for a good first week of broadcasts. Like a fruit basket made exclusively of fruit the recipient hated, or a bouquet of flowers that would leave the unlucky person sneezing all day. The boy just came into the booth one day during a pre-recorded segment and set a fresh mug of coffee down at Kevin’s elbow.

“Who are you?” Kevin smiled up at him.

The boy didn’t flinch. Kevin’s smile fell a little. “Tyler. Your new intern. Strex hired me.”

Kevin drained the mug, not breaking eye contact with the Intern. “Are you from here, Taylor-“

“Tyler-“

“ _Whatever._ ”

The boy hesitated just a second too long. “I wasn’t born here. But I’ve been going to college at-“

It surprised Kevin just how sharp the new equipment was in his studio. Or how much nicer the blood looked on his desk when it was fresh and not his own.

The intern-gifting became something of a game after a while. The CEO sent an intern, Kevin found an interesting way to kill them that didn’t put him in the crosshairs of his producers for murder; usually by sending them out to do field work of dubious importance. He asked the less-human station staff to bring whatever was left back to the booth. Usually it was only a piece or two. If the kid had family nearby, the bits went to them, if not they found a spot among what the surviving interns called the “Pile O’ StrexBait.” There was some visceral satisfaction Kevin took in the illusion of thinning their numbers. Of killing their children the way they were dismantling his home.

He knew none of that was true, of course, there were too many of them for a few interns to thin that herd. The trophies stayed regardless, a false balm for the soul.

But it really livened up the place.

* * *

 

The secretary had been replaced with a more pristine robotic model. Kevin wanted to take a bat to its face.

He wasn’t sure where this violent streak was coming from, but it was an improvement from the anguished hopelessness that had consumed him when all this started.

“Where’s that winning smile?” The CEO demanded as Kevin entered the office.

Kevin smiled so wide it  _hurt_. He had a reason to today.

“So charming,” came the praise, and Kevin smiled just that much wider.

The radio host set his own script (draft 32 or 34, he couldn’t remember) on top of the one waiting for him on the CEO’s desk. “I wrote my own. On my personal time, since it was-“ he swallowed the bile rising up in his throat, “so  _generous_  it allowed me to work from home!  If this goes well, I can just start writing my own material. –ahem, with your approval of course—so you won’t have to do the work for me anymore.”

Anger didn’t follow, just a thoughtful silence as the stack of pink-stained printer paper was leafed through. “I’ll allow this. We’ll see how the first broadcast goes. If you try anything… well, we’ll know, now won’t we?”

Kevin just kept smiling, refusing to feel relief until his voice was back in the airwaves.

It took Strex’s people twenty minutes after the broadcast to crack the code he’d hidden in it. One of the housing developments in New Town was leveled to make way for a strip mall.

His main wall got a new coat of rusty, flaking red. A difficult thing to put up with a broken wrist, black eye, and a concussion, but he managed. And with minimal splatter to the floor, ceiling, and neighboring window. Some white patches showed through, though. It would need a second coat.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s almost certain the CEO is cloning the interns to fuck with him. He’s gotten the same one three times in a row.

 

* * *

 

 

The engineer came sometime around the end of Kevin’s first year working under Strex. He wasn’t sure  _when_  he actually got to town; he hadn’t even known the man existed until he was just magically in Kevin’s booth one morning. “New intern?” He growled at the man’s back, tipping sideways to see what equipment he was fiddling with.

The guy nearly jumped out of his skin, banging his head on the microphone. “ Ow- Um- no.” He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans and turned around, offering a hand and a smile. “Hidalgo. I’m uh- the new contractor for R&D. I was told you were having some trouble with your equipment.”

Kevin tilted his head, smiling to the fullest extent he could without hurting himself.

The color  _drained_  from the engineer’s face.

Not one of Strex’s then. Excellent. He’d almost forgotten normal people existed.

“ _Independent_  contractor?” he asked, rounding to sit in his chair and let Hidalgo work. Or, rather, just poke around with the soundboard curiously.

That earned him an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah. Strex wanted to hire me fresh out of undergrad but… the call of academia is strong.” He laughed, sharing some kind of private joke with himself. He didn’t resume his work.

“Why are you really here?” Kevin took him in; all dark skin, short cropped hair more grey than black, and those teeth, so straight, flat and human.

Kevin swallowed thickly.

Well,  _that_  was new.

“I wanted to meet you,” the man confessed after a few long moments of Kevin staring him down across the desk. “I’ve- I’ve seen you around the building and at the main office and I- er-“ he sighed, wistful and dreamy, flashing those teeth in their neat little rows.

“Well,” a warmth, like blood rushing up to his skin to hastily heal an injury, swept up his neck and across his face, “I suppose you and I should get better acquainted then.”

 

* * *

 

“How do you live with yourself?”

He didn’t have an answer for his reflection.

* * *

 

It was something in the water. Hidalgo confirmed his suspicions on their third break-date (what the engineer had taken to calling their little clandestine meetings in a cool corner of the employee lounge on Kevin’s ten minute lunch break). He’d stopped by with a few bottles of water that had been filtered through some hastily made contraption that looked to Kevin to be at least 50% duct tape and paper clips.

“It makes everyone act so strange.  _Feel_  strange from what I’ve gathered.” Hidalgo was saying as Kevin took his first few hesitant sips. It was clear and smooth against his overworked throat, unlike the gritty, chalky garbage the StrexCorp Water Treatment Plant clogged the taps with. Sweeter. Hidalgo kept rambling on, “not to mention it tastes  _awful._ How do you guys stand that stuff? Also, what’s with the sun? Is it going to set? Ever?”

Kevin didn’t have the heart to tell him that what hung in the sky probably wasn’t the sun anymore. Instead he took a deep draw from the bottle offered to him, understanding that the cool, subtle sweetness wasn’t poison but a  _lack_  of poison. Before he realized it he’d drained the whole bottle and poked holes in the cheap plastic with his teeth trying to get the last few drops.

“I’d offer you the rest, but I have to deliver them to people. I’ll bring you two next time.” Hidalgo teased.

Sure enough, when they went their separate ways and Kevin sat at his desk searching for something to report on, he saw Hidalgo delivering his fresh water to the people of Desert Bluffs. Awash in a sea of thanks and hand-made or stolen goods bartered in exchange for just a little relief from the Strex stranglehold.

“Listeners,” Kevin mused, still watching behind his closed eyes even as the ‘on air’ light clicked to life. “Today seems to be a slow day… Everyone just working their hardest and no one causing any problems! What a splendid thing to get to report. How  _fortunate_  are we for the prosperity of our little community. And to think, we were so afraid of what StrexCorp would bring to us just a few months ago. Don’t you just feel  _silly_  now?”

He swallowed hard and opened his eyes to his bloody desk, strewn with the remains of his last intern, left there by an exceptionally helpful deer in a bright yellow vest. Or well, it was bright yellow. Now it was more of an orange with thick blobs of reddish-purple sloughing down the sides like it was trying to hold on for dear life.

Very silly indeed.

 

* * *

 

Desert Bluffs recovered; scarred so badly as to be almost unrecognizable, but still alive. Still somewhat theirs. Theirs in the shadowed corners and security camera blind spots. In the quiet space between work and the sweet relief of exhausted, dreamless sleep. In drawn blinds and a game of cards snuck in between shifts. In kisses stolen in the heartbeats between ‘not busy’ and ‘behind on work’. In recounted stories and nostalgia, nicknames and in-jokes. In the hazy steam of well-made artisan coffee purchased from the last surviving family-owned business. In colorful, gaudy ties, day-glo lacquered fingernails, and creative blood splatter. In those single boxes of personal effects; the pieces of a soul that were allowed to continue from one life into the next after death.

So much had changed.  _Everything_  had changed. Everything but the names. The simple words used to define a thing or a person as  _that_  thing or  _this_  person. The burst of syllables that brought back memories. The root of the oral tradition.

Strex couldn’t take their names. No matter how hard they tried to rename a building, Kevin’s insistence, disguised cleverly as forgetfulness, on the radio made  _sure_  it never took.

They weren’t the  _Desert Bluffs Metropolitan Area_.

They were  _Desert Bluffs. Full. Stop. **God-fucking-damn you**._

And that was something like victory poking through like sunlight, punctate but determined, viewed from between ever-growing pile of their failures and defeats.

And Kevin slept at what was approximately night once more. Uneasy, fitful sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

Sometimes when he woke up he wouldn’t be alone, but he would be again when he went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The blackout curtains were shit so Kevin stripped off his bedsheets and nailed them to the wall above the windows.

When that didn’t help he bundled them up, took them to the office to let them soak up intern-blood from the carpets of his booth, and then nailed them up again.

_Much better._

* * *

 

Boredom and anxiety consumed him. Routine was nice and all, but the tedium of the days, even now that he was allowed to handle the radio show without pre-written scripts from the higher ups, it was a constant cycle of the same:

_Work hard! Play hard! Work harder!_

But no one really played anymore. There wasn’t time. You popped in on a bar for a drink and a half on your way home and if you were  _lucky_  your digital assistant didn’t shock the shit out of you when you didn’t unlock your door on time. And  _dates._ Oh God. Those required an amount of red tape so vast it was like the Christmas gift wrapping table at the mall.

Which, in fairness to the table, was  _made entirely_  of red tape and crepe paper.

Underneath the mantra was the constant threat of punishment. For some people it was an unrealized fact of their reality. Obedience was expected for their ensured survival and they provided it. Others tested the bounds and came back to their families piecemeal or not at all. Kevin straddled the fence between the two; his people needed him, he wasn’t about to get himself killed or sent to employee training to be brainwashed. But he couldn’t acquiesce to something he’d fought so hard against.

The whole thing made his head hurt. How far was too far? How safe was too safe?

How much was his life worth?

The nights before his mandatory bimonthly performance reviews were the worst for these feelings. When they gave him an extra few hours off to prepare. Anxious and fidgety, he paced on his bed where the StrexPet couldn’t get to him. It creaked and complained under the distribution of his weight, a spring gave out here and there, resulting in a deep dip where the mattress poked through the bedframe.

Sometimes Hidalgo would text him; long strings of nonsensical emojis or novel-length messages about a project or some such thing Kevin couldn’t hope to understand. But he read the words two or three times anyway before responding that he had a performance review tomorrow and desperately needed sleep.

And then proceeded to continue not sleeping.

Half-crazed from exhaustion and hyped up on coffee watered down with whatever Strex kept giving them yielded halfway decent response for the first portion. The company paired off those competing for the same position and told them to ‘resolve their differences’ while the vice president of the company watched on and took bets. The CEO never showed for the review.

Kevin had two challengers this month and they put his new teeth to good use.

The interviews, however, he didn’t do so well on. The questionnaires weren’t hard, but the subtle digs at his loyalty made Kevin crave another match in the Death Pit and the warm drip of blood between his steel-cored fangs.

“How would you rate your work ethic on a scale of 1 to 10? 10 being the highest.”

_One. I hate this job and everyone in it. And if I didn’t have a little chip shocking me every minute I fell behind schedule I wouldn’t even get up in the morning._

“Hmm. Nine. But a  _solid_  nine, I think.”

“Why do you say that?”

_Because if I gave myself a perfect score, you’d suspect me of not taking this seriously._

“Because, like my mother always said, there’s always room for improvement!”

“Of course! And how would you rank that of your co-workers?”

“One. Maybe two. One and a half.”

“Oh dear, that’s awful! Why?”

_Because if I talk enough shit you’ll clear them out and replace them with new people I can get away with lying to._

“I guess I just have higher standards than they do.” A laugh, good-natured, not too high, and a shrug. “The contractors know to be efficient and productive, it’s the only way to stay on, but the people that have worked for the company for years?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, “They’re complacent  _slackers_  that think they’re safe just because they don’t have a contract looming over them.”

“Hmmm. Good to know.”

 

* * *

 

The CEO didn’t call on him as much anymore; usually only when there was a new announcement to be made regarding company policy or something else that was specifically Kevin’s job now. No more of that checking in to monitor his loyalty and the slow breaking of his spirit.

The meetings themselves, however, were odd ones. Always opened with a command to “Smile” even if Kevin was already smiling. More than once hands reached across the desk and touched his face, thumbs digging into his dimples and pulling wider, until his lower lip split under the strain.  That wasn’t even the first bout of, in Kevin’s opinion, unnecessary touching. Fingers would card through his hair, over the bubbling of blood from the cut, toying with his tie. He’d shift away, or clear his throat to try and get free. When that failed a soft, “You wanted to see me about something?” was enough to get him a few seconds of breathing space.

Sometimes he was grilled with questions about himself. What his life was like pre-Strex, his family and friends. (“Parents dead. Unmarried brother living in town. Supposedly. Not too many friends to speak of given the dearth of leisure time. Didn’t I tell you all this last time you asked?”) The nature of his skills as a radio host; the limits of his clairvoyance, what he could or could not command the public to do.

“I can’t-“ Kevin had laughed genuinely at this question the first time he’d heard it, “I can’t  _command_  the public to do anything. Only sway its opinion one way or another. If that opinion is strong enough, they’ll act on their own.”

As he left the offices, his skin would crawl. The insect-legs of eyes on him, and not the benevolent eyes of the government agency that had once monitored the town’s every move. No, this was much more sinister and selfish; the master of a pet prone to running away.

But Kevin had nowhere to run  _to._

* * *

 

He stopped missing the musical night-sounds. His life became a rush of traffic and agony and the growling wet-burlap drag of the mission statement.

Sometimes he woke up to the sound of his own laughter but couldn’t remember what he was laughing about until he started crying. Salt and sour like the anxiety sweat the interns were drenched in when he told them were they need to head off to today.

His day planner reminded him he has a meeting with the CEO at the end of the month.

 

* * *

 

He was pretty sure the Smiling God wasn’t a deity.

It’s a man with no memorable shape or features with horse teeth in a cheap-looking houndstooth jacket.

And his smile was something between lecherous and sickened-but-polite. Unkind and soulless.

Kevin practiced replicating it in his bathroom mirror until his face went numb.

 

* * *

 

“How much do you love this little town of yours?”

“More than anything.”

“Would you do anything to keep it where it is? I know there’s-“

“ _Just tell me what you want me to tell them and I’ll do it._ ”

 

* * *

 

Kevin wasn’t sure when his little break-dates with Hidalgo turned into quickies in the supply closet (avoidance of the cameras made possible by a prototype jammer. Kevin was  _certain_ this man could make anything out of the right amount of aluminum wire, wood glue, and patience and it was  _adorable_ ), into Hidalgo bringing a duffle to Kevin’s place and staying the night sprawled out on his bare mattress.

“Smart idea,” he commented, shouting a bit so Kevin could hear him over the sound of the angry StrexPet blending with the whirr of his toothbrush. “The sheets I mean. Really blocks out the light.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin saw Hidalgo prop himself up on his elbows, the mattress squeaking angrily. “Though you could use with some spare sheets. The mattresses feel like plastic. I could bring you a set of mine. They let me keep most of the stuff I brought from home. Would you want me to? Is that too forward?”

Kevin spit pink foam into the sink and pretended he didn’t hear the questions. He hopped up on the bed with the engineer, phone in one hand, the other brushing his wet hair out of his face. It was a little longer than dress-code standard. They’d make him cut it soon.

He shook off the thought, swinging one leg over Hidalgo’s waist to straddle him. “Smile,” he said holding up his phone between his hands.

When Hidalgo smiled it was all bright and glowy; his teeth white and flat, stained yellow around the gumline from intermittent neglect. There was  _joy_  there, in the crinkling skin around his rich, dark eyes, the dimples darkened by stubbly facial hair. Real, genuine joy warm like real, genuine sunshine. Not this cold harsh light from the Smiling God that had permeated Kevin’s smile. Kevin’s  _everything_.

Kevin snapped a picture of his teeth.

 

* * *

 

Kevin walked to work one day and found out they’d changed all the street signs, including the names on them.

He nearly ate the intern himself in his fury.

 

* * *

 

One of the producers, Kevin thought his name was Matt, got StrexClips put in after a visit to corporate. Whether it was mandatory or he opted into it, he refused to say.

The permanent smile seemed too much, almost painful at its silver-studded points like staples holding it in place. Others complimented him on it. How great it was to not have to consciously smile! To just be doing it all the time, even while sleeping.

Kevin rubbed the soreness out of his cheeks on the walk back to his booth.

 

* * *

 

“Do I ask too much of you, Kevin?”

“Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted.” A hand brushed his cheek; Kevin’s fingers tightened on the seat cushion, but he didn’t flinch. “Your smile is falling.”

He pulled his mouth wide with renewed vigor, the unnatural curve of his teeth holding his lips wider than they were meant to go.

“Ever the charmer, aren’t you?”

“ _Always_.”

 

* * *

 

“What do you think about moving in together?”

Kevin didn’t answer, heart in his throat, bare skin against his own suddenly Too Much.

“We could convince corporate to give us the paperwork; I already stay here a lot and we could carpool! Carpooling is the pinnacle of efficiency!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?”

“I just… don’t.” He swallowed hard. “We can still carpool though,  _that_  is an  _excellent_  idea.”

 

* * *

 

He got a leisure day after his first year of _unpunished_ work. A whole  _day_  and Kevin didn’t know what to do with himself.

He ended up spending a huge chunk of it just sitting on a counter in Hidalgo’s workshop watching the engineer at work. He had no idea how Hidalgo built half the stuff he did, but watched anyway. Shiny steel and expensive bits and bobs went into making Official StrexCorp items commissioned in his contract. Cast-off bits and duct tape formed into water filters and step ladders and little things that the people had asked after on the engineer’s daily visits.

Kevin watched, enraptured, as Hidalgo pieced together a watch for him. “Keep it,” he said once he’d gotten it ticking and handed it to Kevin, “I’ve got a lot of the things.”

A drawer-full wasn’t Kevin’s definition of “a lot” but he kept it anyway and let Hidalgo outfit it with different things throughout the rest of the day until it was the Strex utility knife of radio host watches. Kevin could even  _transmit_  from the damn thing if he hooked his microphone up to it; frequency jammer, pepper spray, corkscrew, magic 8 ball, the works.

“I love it!” He said, pushing the tiny buttons and levers to test every function.

“I thought you might.”

Dinner later was such a giddy rush for Kevin he didn’t remember half of what he said, only the way Hidalgo had blushed and stammered in response.

He hadn’t felt so happy in so long.

 

* * *

 

Hidalgo was kind enough to teach him how to make mouse traps and asked to come along when Kevin told him what they were for.

“You think StrexPets can be trained?” the engineer asked, “I mean, I thought so too, but I was never issued one. I couldn’t really study it.”

“You’ve seen mine.” Kevin offered as he shouldered open the door to his apartment building’s basement. The sharp ticking of tiny nails scurrying across the floor filled the room.

“Yes it is an… interesting feat of engineering. It  _behaves_  so much like a real animal but it’s clearly metal. And that shape- what do you think its modeled after? A dog maybe? A cat?”

Kevin took a sharp breath through his nose, remembering his own cat and how it would run off chasing mice in the shabby little place he’d called home before. “I was always more of a cat person,” he laughed. “Now, help me set these traps.”

 

* * *

 

They dragged him out of bed. No.  _Them_. They dragged the pair of them out of bed and out of Kevin’s apartment. Thankfully still dressed, but now blindfolded and bound up in the footwell of some strange car’s backseat. There was muffled shouting above him. Hidalgo. Kevin’s teeth tore through the flimsy cloth gag, with no effort on his part, but he didn’t call out to comfort his boyfriend.

It would be pointless.

They’re dragged down hallways; tile floors a painfully cold contrast to bright, sunny heat. He knew this path. This building and its noises. Two elevators. Three hallways. The mechanical whir of the robot secretary. The slight give of the floor when he’s thrown against it.

“You know,” the CEO’s voice sang as the guards picked Kevin back up by his elbows and the back of his neck; feet planted on his calves to stop him from rising fully, “We have a very  _strict_ company policy against fraternization in the workplace.”

The light was harsh and bright, leaving spots dancing across his vision when the blindfold was removed.

“ _Especially_  for contract workers,” Across the office, closer to the door, Hidalgo was held in a similar position. There was a terrified glimmer in his eyes, but his face was stoic and determined. “Since you aren’t a citizen,” the CEO continued, musing “or even a real employee we can’t just send you for re-training.”

Kevin’s heart sank. No.

Not this too. Not another loss.

“Wait-“ he croaked before he could think to stop himself, “Wait- wait. Please. This is my fault. It wasn’t fraternization. He had nothing to do with this. Let him go.”

He was laughed at for the effort. “He was found in your apartment, Kevin. That looks an awful lot like fraternization to me.”

On the other side of the office Hidalgo was shaking his head.

“I- I know. I know how this looks. But it wasn’t his fault. He had no choice.” Kevin kept going, the center of the room’s attention. “I gave him no choice. I was idle at times. I approached him-  _convinced_  him.”

Hidalgo mouthed the words  _what are you doing_  at him.

“It took a while. Just… talking at him.  Over the phone, through the radio link between our offices. Convincing him that those feelings were his and not just… me projecting. He didn’t know about me. He never stood a chance since I-“ Kevin laughed, hollow and broken. Better a long, miserable life than a short, happy one. “I only had eyes for him.”

“Is that so? Do still have feelings for this- this-“

“He’s done a lot of good for Desert Bluffs. For Strex.” Kevin argued. “And I’m appreciative for those things. But- no. I don’t. They’ve been waning a while now.”

The laugh that followed was bitter and cruel. “Well, then I suppose you won’t have any qualms breaking it off right here and now then. Before we have to request the HR forms. Before  _someone_  needs to be fired for violation of his contract.”

“Don’t do this-“ Hidalgo started.

Kevin cut him off. “I don’t love you.” A punch to the gut probably wouldn’t have felt so unpleasant. “I never did and I never will. I was… obsessed and infatuated, but that’s all it was.”

More mouthed words:  _Kevin stop_.

“You- you were a distraction I couldn’t afford.”

_Stop lying_.

“Stay out of my life.”

_Please stop lying_.

“Stay as far away from me as you can. It’s- It’s not safe. And I don’t feel anything for you.” He paused, gaze drifting downward, his throat covered with something thick and bitter. “No. No that’s not true. I do feel something for you. One thing. And that’s fear.”

When he looked up again the expression Hidalgo’s face broke his heart. He hadn’t been aware there were pieces left to break.

It was for the best. He’d be safer this way.

“That’s enough.” The CEO said, bored now. “Take the engineer away for renegotiations.” They were about to take Kevin too, but were stopped by an upraised hand.

Sadly, goons of this caliber are stupid, so both pairs stopped. If the CEO noticed, he didn’t care.

“You’ve put us in quite the predicament, haven’t you? Your little engineer might be safe, but  _you_  have still knowingly violated company policy.”

“I didn’t mean any harm by it,” Kevin knew better than to plead anymore. He’d taken out his loan, he’d have to pay it back before he could take out another.

“ ‘I only had eyes for you’ “ the laugh was like chewing on aluminum foil. “Cute. Poetic. Wholly inappropriate.”

“I understand. I won’t-“

“ _Do you?_ ” Kevin flinched back as far as he could with the guards still holding him. “You realize, don’t you, that your position is the most  _lucrative_  in this little town. A well-paying spot with the company  _alongside_  your old job; a leisure day after only a single year and change despite all your little… defiant efforts to maintain your individuality. And I let you have it. Because I am  _kind_  and I am  _fair_  and I understand how much this wasteland means to you. Have I not been more than generous?”

“You have-“

“And  _yet_  here you are  _again_  violating regulations.  _Fraternizing_. You could be led  _astray_ , Kevin. And who would take your place?”

Kevin had no answer.

“You have so much  _potential_ , Kevin. I have so much  _faith_  in you, but for every step forward there is a step back,” It was like being scolded by his father for staying out too late.  _You know there are coyotes out there, Kevin. What were you thinking_?

A deep breath.

“But.  _But._  I think we can all learn from this, can’t we?” The CEO picked up something slender and dark from the pen holder on his desk. “How much can a man’s eyes wander, I wonder… if he doesn’t have eyes at all?”

He knew better than to fight back, bite back. He shouldn’t have really started screaming, and almost didn’t, but something pulled and snapped and filled the whole right side of his head with white hot agony and the sound came out anyway.

The goons released him after the second one, letting him sink to the floor and curl in on himself.

“Leave us alone.”

Kevin shivered on the floor, warm blood rapidly cooling on his face as he listened to the footsteps retreat.

“Your life would be so much easier if you just stopped fighting with me. I only want what’s best for you. To maximize your potential.” There were hands on his face, huge and impossibly strong, lifting him off the floor and onto his knees. He braced his hands against the indescribable shape closest to where it was touching him, “Now, let’s see that winning smile.”

Kevin forced the corners of his mouth as high as they could reach.

“Excellent.”

 

* * *

 

Two days off to recover and figure out how to see functionally without his eyes if he didn’t want to go and get new, mechanical ones put in. His third eye wasn’t really meant for such things. It was meant to scan, to observe for a few moments, not be open all day. The prolonged use was disorienting; he could see through so many things with it. The haze of uppers in the tap water didn’t touch it. The fog of his own madness was lifted to reveal the harsh, blood-soaked horror of his reality without filters.

The migraines kept him hunched over his kitchen sink, splashing water on his face at odd intervals to get rid of some of the heat and pressure under his skin or vomiting until he tasted copper.

He walked circles around the central island of his kitchen until he could do the whole circuit only bumping into it once. Then went around the perimeter of his apartment, once, twice.

Okay. He could do this.

 

* * *

 

He heard second-hand that Hidalgo had run out on his contract when he found out they were going to transfer him somewhere else.

Kevin didn’t have the heart or the energy to try and find out if that was true.

* * *

 

He took the glass off his mirror and broke it into fat shards so he could leave pieces of himself in the next few people he used to repaint the wall.

It wasn’t like he was using them.

* * *

 

Kevin was no longer invited to meetings with corporate, but they sent him minutes of those meetings. Not demoted, just on probation.

He hoped it lasted forever.

It didn’t of course, and Kevin supposed that’s what he got for hoping.

 

* * *

 

If he bothered to pray to the Smiling God would it hear him?

Or just take joy in his suffering?

Smiles implied happiness didn’t they?

God, he missed being happy.

Apparently, Strex had something for that. They could fix it if he asked.

_Permanently_.

 

* * *

 

The vice-president complimented him on his ferocity during his performance review. Such rage and bloodthirst were apparently very befitting of a radio host.

He almost took her face too.

But that would reflect poorly on his review.

* * *

 

They let him keep the pictures he’d taken.

He got a few of them framed.

 

* * *

 

When he was called back to the CEO’s office at corporate it was eight months after the debacle with the engineer. Kevin, with no other choice, had thrown himself into his work. Into being the voice of his community. To being their source of comfort, even if they could no longer be his in return.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t  _anything_  at all. The town was just a name. Hardly anyone called in anymore, not like they used to. Everyone had changed into the same strange, savage mirror of themselves that Kevin had.

It wasn’t his town anymore.

He sat in the chair and let his smile fade to nothing. One last act of defiance. One last, pitiful stand in the face of a two year long defeat.

“Oh, what’s this?” it was teasing. Like Kevin was a dog that had just brought his master a forgotten toy.

In a way, Kevin supposed he was.

“Now, now. Enough of this frowny business. Your performance has improved so  _dramatically_ over the last few months. All that potential finally coming to a head.” The joy in the CEO’s voice faded to barely contained rage. “Come on now, smile for me.”

“Make me.”

“Kevin…” warning –no,  _threatening_.- “Kevin, we talked about this. You were doing so  _well_.”

Kevin laughed. If this was well, he didn’t want to know what poor performance looked like. “I can’t- I can’t do this anymore.”

Silence.

“I don’t have anything to smile about anymore. It’s all…It’s all  _gone_. You took it from me. I’m tired of making myself smile for you. You want me to keep doing it?  _Make me._ ”

More silence.

 

* * *

 

Two injections, twice a day, for four weeks, off for four weeks, then repeat. It was a bit of a pain in the ass, but that was the StrexMed regimen Kevin had been assigned and-

And it was working!

His memory was a little fuzzy. He’d forget where he left his keys the night before, or to feed the StrexPet before he left. The dizzy spells were fading.

But he was sleeping on time. Getting to work on time.  _Smiling more_. Real smiles, happy smiles he felt in the pit of his stomach and all the way up into his chest. He probably didn’t even  _need_  the StrexClips anymore, but he kept them in, just in case. For hours at a stretch he practically  _vibrated_ with giddiness.

Occasionally, bits of his old self (that Grumpy Gus) would seep through in the form of a snide comment or too-sharp comeback, especially during his off weeks. He tried to line them up with his performance reviews. He always performed better in the Death Pit off the meds.

He was also assigned a therapist, but never actually went to her. Sure, he called in from time to time, held the interview from home. She kept pleading with him to come in, but he was  _fine_ now. Absolutely  _fine._

Perhaps a bit  _too_ fine. But he wasn’t complaining.

Kevin cradled the phone against his shoulder, spouting nonsensical reassurances as he collected the filled mousetraps from the basement. They’d been emptied and replaced a few times, when Kevin had given up on the endeavor in the middle of collecting them. He hung up on the way back upstairs, box rustling and squeaking against his hip.

He whistled for the StrexPet when he came in. It whirred right up to him, nipping at his heels as he set down his keys, phone, and digital planner. “I,” he sang, kneeling down in front of the strange thing, “am going to teach you a  _trick_.”

 

* * *

 

The sandstorm came.

That radio station with all its dry, ancient equipment so much like his own had been all those years ago.  He saw his double. And something  _pulled_. It pulled taut and viciously with all of its strength so Kevin could feel it through the haze of toxic medication. That voice so  _familiar_.

**_The lie_.**

And then, like a skipping record it was all he could hear for  _days on end_.

_“Yes. You win, Kevin. Everything goes right. You and community radio prevail. And you are happier than ever.”_

He wasn’t sure what he wanted more.

To help Strex.

Night Vale.

_Or to take all the things he’d lost from Cecil._

Revenge, even for something so small, was such a  _powerful_  motivator, after all. Though, Kevin supposed, in some ways Cecil  _had_  been telling the truth.

He  _was_ happier than ever. It just took a while to get there.


End file.
